


Renaissance

by dormiensa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Curses, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, OotP-compliant, Post - Deathly Hallows, Post-War, Rebuilding Hogwarts, mostly gen with romantic elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormiensa/pseuds/dormiensa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of a hard-won victory, disaster strikes once again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Renaissance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hawthorn and Vine 2014 Reverse Challenge fest.  
> Beta'd by the infallible withdrawnred.

It had been progressing for over two hours, but the blazes showed no signs of subsiding.  
  
New echoes of screams issued forth. The fire had reached a new part of Hogwarts castle, and new portraits were being consumed. They hadn’t had time to rescue the paintings. There’d barely been enough time to race into the Great Hall and warn everyone to evacuate. They’d had to leave behind the bodies of fallen friends and family. And in the rush to safety, they were fortunate that there weren’t any new casualties, only some scrapes and bruises.  
  
Still, as Hermione watched the bright flames gather momentum and light up new rooms, she felt a deep-seated ache at the loss. Hogwarts had in some ways been more of a home to her because it was here that she finally found her identity: she was a witch and not just a freak to whom inexplicable events happened. Her six years at the school had not been a bed of roses, of course, but it was painful to watch an integral part of her past literally go up in smoke.   
  
The tops of Gryffindor Tower and the Astronomy Tower were still unscathed, although it was only a matter of time. Hermione wiped back fresh tears when she thought of their common room, with its cheerful fire and squishy chairs, and the dormitory she had slept in for six years.   
  
A sudden explosion, followed by a resounding crash of collapsing stone, startled the crowd. The noise came from the far side of the castle. Soon, a foul odour assaulted their nostrils.  
  
“The Potions classroom,” murmured Draco. Indeed, the location, coupled with the smell, left little doubt in Hermione’s mind that the storeroom of Potions ingredients had been located and ravaged, resulting in the caving in of at least one part of the dungeons.   
  
“Snape would’ve been livid.”   
  
Draco didn’t respond, but a tightening of his arm around her related his feelings on the matter.   
  
During the brief time that they’d managed to sneak away from the Great Hall, Hermione had managed to tell Draco of Snape’s demise. Not that they’d spent much of that time talking. There was still a lot left to say—the Fiendfyre had interrupted them, and for the next twenty minutes, the only thoughts were to make sure every person and house-elf escaped alive.  
  
A thought occurred to Hermione, and she quickly made her way to the Headmistress, who had finally sat down to rest. Professor McGonagall’d been going from group to group to ensure there were no serious injuries that required immediate attention. Madam Pomfrey was still fussing over a handful of students who had been accidentally knocked aside in the scramble to exit the front doors.   
  
“Professor, will the inhabitants of Hogsmeade need to be evacuated? The secret tunnels to the Shrieking Shack and Honeydukes…”  
  
“Yes. I sent my Patronus to the owner of the Hog’s Head, who will rouse the villagers. At this point, I’m sure that we need not inform for them to be aware of the situation. Thank you for your vigilance, Miss Granger.”  
  
“Not at all. I noticed that Hagrid is missing. Has he gone into the Forbidden Forest?”  
  
“Indeed he has. Firenze felt that Hagrid’s warning would be taken more seriously by the centaurs.”  
  
“And what should we do about shelter for the night, Professor?”  
  
“I’m awaiting word from Kingsley, who has returned to the Ministry to apprise them of… recent events and will make the necessary arrangements. Perhaps I should inform the students; I’m sure the news will be welcome.” McGonagall struggled to get to her feet.   
  
Hermione gently coaxed her to settle down, assuring the Headmistress that she would get Harry to make the announcement. McGonagall nodded gratefully.   
  
Hermione made her way toward the patch of grass where Harry was sitting with the Weasley family. Mrs. Weasley was still sobbing quietly over the loss of Percy. Harry got to his feet as Hermione approached and nodded in assent to her request. He walked toward a more central location among the crowd, magnified his voice, and informed of the impending plans. There was a smattering of applause following his announcement.  
  
When he made his way back to the group, Harry quietly requested a private audience with Hermione, and the two friends walked toward the lake.   
  
“Want to tell me what’s going on between you and Malfoy?”  
  
Hermione sighed. She’d hope to have this conversation at a much later date. “We’d been sort of… seeing each other. During Sixth.” At Harry’s shocked expression, Hermione said, defensively, “I know his actions during that year were very suspicious, but he’s not a Death Eater like his father, Harry.”  
  
“I know. I was there in the Astronomy Tower. I was also there at the Manor. And I know that I can trust your judgment, but I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”  
  
“I appreciate that, Harry; I really do. I don’t know where things are headed with him—it’s not as if we were making plans for the future, given…”  
  
“You know he’ll likely be put on trial. I saw Kingsley, Arthur, and the others take the captured Death Eaters with them when they Disapparated. I managed to tell Kingsley that Malfoy’s mum saved my life so that they wouldn’t tie her up.”  
  
“She did?”  
  
“Yes, how else do you think I made it out of the Forbidden Forest alive?”  
  
“You really scared us with that trick, Harry. If I hadn’t been holding onto the handrail of the main staircase, I’m sure I would’ve tumbled down the steps when my knees gave out.”  
  
“I’m sorry. I know—and you have every right to be mad at me, but it was the only way I could think of—”  
  
“I know, Harry. As soon as I realized you’d disappeared, I knew what your plan was.” She hugged him tightly. “Just… don’t ever do something like that again.”  
  
Harry chuckled weakly into her hair. “Unlikely. We destroyed all the Horcruxes, remember? That reminds me: I need to tell Kingsley about why Neville killing the snake is even more heroic than it seems.”  
  
“Yes. And when we have a bit more time, I think there are still other parts of the story you need to tell me.”  
  
“And I’d like to know how you and Mal—”  
  
Hermione and Harry turned their heads toward the screeching sound that had interrupted them. Astonished, they saw the merchief pointing at the castle and trying to communicate something urgent. Neither of them could understand, but Hermione motioned that she would search for someone who  _could_  speak mermish.  
  
Moments later, Hermione returned with Professors McGonagall and Flitwick. The tiny Charms teacher spent several minutes in rapid dialogue with the merchief before finally informing the Headmistress that the merfolk were willing to gather as much mud from the bottom of the lake as needed to put out the Fiendfyre. Somewhat embarrassed, Flitwick added that he’d forgotten this was the only known means of extinguishing the cursed fire.  
  
To the surprise of the small group, McGonagall asked Flitwick to thank the merchief for her kindness but to inform that they were going to let the Fiendfyre die out on its own. The castle was built without the aid of magic, so the majority of the outer stone structure would still remain standing once the fire had finished consuming every trace of the magic that had been accumulating for centuries.   
  
Hermione protested. “But the portraits—”  
  
“Fear not, Miss Granger. The Headmaster’s Office has other protections around it and will be unharmed, so the subjects within the magical portraits can seek refuge there. Of course, there will be some bickering, what with the crowding.”   
  
The merchief cackled after Flitwick translated the exchange and commented that burning away remnants of bad memories and bad magic was a proper way of starting afresh. With parting words that the offer of lake mud still held, the merchief disappeared.   
  
There was palpable dismay when they got back to the main group. The air above the castle was shimmering and billowing in a beautiful, multicoloured display. It almost seemed like a hovering Aurora Borealis.   
  
Hermione heard the Headmistress sigh. “Oh dear, the library. Irma will never forgive me.”  
  
Hermione buried her head into Harry’s shoulder at the acute pain of this new loss. All those beautiful tomes and the knowledge they contained! She wished she’d spent more time in the library browsing the precious volumes—there’d been several she’d put off reading because of time constrictions. How many were single copies or limited editions that would now be impossible to replace?   
  
But she could not mourn for long because a group of Ministry workers soon arrived and began organizing people into groups to Portkey. A silent agreement passed between Harry and herself, and she headed toward Draco.  
  


***

  
  
Hermione felt a fresh stab of pain as she approached the front gate of Hogwarts three weeks after the destruction and saw the forlorn structure. Even though the Fiendfyre had left the stone almost intact, with only some blackened patches, the castle looked derelict. Hagrid had informed her that the fyre had not died down until noon of the following day. As she gathered in the courtyard with other students, former and current, a flicker of hope kindled when she noticed the scaffolding that had been erected in the battle-damaged sections.   
  
Hermione wondered how long it would take to rebuild and revitalize the castle sufficiently to once again allow students into its hallowed halls.  _Rehallowed halls._  
  
Professor McGonagall and the rest of the staff stood before the archway that framed the now-incinerated front doors. When the entire group was assembled, Professor McGonagall explained that the purpose for the gathering was to perform a purification rite before the castle was to be rebuilt. Everyone was to spread out and ensure that every inch of the castle would receive a cleansing. They would commence when McGonagall set off the fireworks signal. Older students were to assist those who had difficulties performing the  _Aguamenti_  Spell. McGonagall reassured the younger students that the incantation need not be perfect—even a trickle of water would suffice; it was the intention that mattered.  
  
Although reluctant to face the reality and extent of the devastation, Hermione found herself stepping into the ruins of the library. The vast space was completely empty. Not even the ashened remains of a single book could be found. The Fiendfyre was not wasteful, it seemed.  
  
Hermione took a deep breath to brace herself when a drawling voice startled her. “Too embarrassed to be seen with me now, Granger?” Draco chuckled when she threw her arms around his neck.   
  
There was a long pause before Hermione’s muffled voice sounded against his chest. “How long is the Wizengamot allowing you?”  
  
“In a shocking display of magnanimity, my trial will be delayed until the Headmistress deems my assistance in the rebuilding efforts at Hogwarts is no longer required.”  
  
Hermione loosened her hold and beamed at him.   
  
Draco gave a wry grin and said, “I suppose I really do owe Potty a life debt now. How irritating.”  
  
“Prat! You owe me a life debt, too!”  
  
“And how do you propose I repay it? Don’t be tedious and say ‘be nice to Gryffindors henceforth’ because you know the animosity is two-sided.”  
  
Hermione huffed. “As if you’d get off so easily. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something. And just for that snide comment, it’s going to be something painful.”  
  
“Slytherin tendencies do not a true Slytherin make.”  
  
“As if I’d ever want to.”  
  
“No, too much of a goody teacher’s pet to ever succeed.”  
  
“Says Snape’s favourite.”  
  
“I earned it, unlike Potty. I still haven’t figured out how he cheated, but I know he did because even  _you_  couldn’t believe his sudden aptitude.”   
  
Hermione was prevented from retorting by the burst of sound entering the library. Looking toward the crackling and popping noises, she was momentarily stunned: McGonagall had used the firecrackers developed by Fred and George. Then, she began laughing.  
  
With the help of the other students gathered in the library, Hermione and Draco managed to coat the stones with a layer of water within a half-hour. A sense of calm settled as the group watched the trickling and cascading ribbons sparkle from the rays of sunlight seeping through the tall windows, finally pooling in long, rectangular lakes that outlined the locations of every bookshelf that had stood for decades and centuries within the walls.   
  
Turning on the spot to take one last look, Hermione finally placed her hand in Draco’s and allowed him to lead her toward another part of the castle that needed consecration.  
  


***

  
  
Harry was waiting outside McGonagall’s office when Hermione finally emerged, a pensive look on her face.   
  
“Harry, do you have time to walk with me around the castle?”  
  
“Of course.” The two friends made their way down the corridor, noting the spots where new stones had been laid to repair damages. The stonemasons had worked furiously to reconstruct the castle before the weather turned cold. The walls were still completely devoid of paintings, tapestries, and the other decorative items that had once abundantly adorned them. When it seemed that Hermione could not unburden herself without prompting, Harry asked, “Is something wrong, Hermione?”  
  
She sighed. “I was just thinking about the people that Professor McGonagall asked here today. I thought that you and I and all the others who are Muggle-borns or were raised as Muggles would be the only ones who’ve felt like outsiders in the wizarding world and therefore considered Hogwarts our first true home. But I guess Neville felt equally isolated, having always been thought a disappointment by his family. Being surrounded by magic all your life doesn’t seem to guarantee that you feel a part of it.”  
  
“Well, there are people like Filch and Arabella Figg. They must feel even worse than we did about not fitting in the world we thought we belonged to. Just goes to show how stupid blood purity really is.”  
  
“Yes, though even with Voldemort truly gone, it’s going to take a long time for people to get rid of their prejudices. I mean, even Ron sometimes unwittingly spouts disparaging comments, and neither Molly nor Arthur can be accused of subscribing to the idea of superiority by blood.”  
  
“Products of their upbringing. Something you’ll have to really fight when you’re chasing after your little grey-eyed, blond-haired sprogs. Ow! Kidding! Did Malfoy complain about favouritism when he found out you were summoned to a secret meeting at the castle and he wasn’t?”  
  
“Yes, though he assumed that Professor McGonagall owl’d only Gryffindors.”  
  
“Well, he’s going to have his pointy nose put out of joint even more when he finds out it was more of an anti-pure-blood meet.”  
  
“Not really. I know it’s hard to believe, but all the pure-blood nonsense he kept reiterating while we were in school was just reflexive behaviour, a means to be one of their lot. Neither of his parents really subscribe to it, especially not in the way the other Death Eaters did. And no, I’m not just taking his word for it. I’ve spoken to his mother, and Andromeda also confirmed it.”  
  
Harry mulled over this.   
  
When they reached the corridor that had once been lined with a row of suits of armour, Hermione sighed again. “Professor McGonagall says that none of the suits survived the Fiendfyre. Well, of those who survived the Battle.”  
  
“Was that what you and McGonagall were talking about after the meeting?”  
  
“I wanted to ask if the portraits were all right. You saw how none of their frames and canvases survived. Professor McGonagall said that while most of them made it to the Headmaster’s office, not all of them did. Sir Cadogan and Barnabas the Barmy are among the casualties. And a few were scorched quite badly trying to escape. The ghosts and Peeves are safe; for once, Peeves has been very subdued, not causing any trouble. Professor McGonagall says she may ask a Creatures Specialist to look him over at some point. Oh, and she asked if you could check if the Room of Requirement still exists. She hasn’t been able to find it.”  
  
“I think Neville should be there to help look for it. I’ll owl him about bringing our memories to McGonagall at the same time.”  
  
“That’s a great idea, Harry. Maybe you should suggest he include his memories about the Room; it may help restore it.”  
  
“I will. Hermione, can we make a quick stop to the top of the Astronomy Tower? We can leave on my Firebolt from there—unless you’d rather Floo home.”  
  
“No, I’m fine with flying.”  
  
“Who’d’ve thought a dragon would cure your fear of flying.”  
  
“Well, a troll made us best friends.”  
  
“Ha, true!”  
  
Hermione remained silent after they reached the top of the Astronomy Tower, knowing that Harry was trying to purge his demons from the night Dumbledore died. From the spots where he paused and the directions he faced, she could map out where he, Dumbledore, Draco, and Snape had stood during that horrible encounter. She wondered briefly if she could coax Draco to perform a similar rite of catharsis.  
  
Harry finally let out a long sigh and spelled his broomstick back to its actual size. He gestured for Hermione to settle behind him.  
  


***

  
  
Hermione plugged the stopper securely into the vial and peered at the silvery wisp contained within. This was the final duplicated memory she would be giving as her contribution to the rebuilding of Hogwarts. Mindful of the instructions that McGonagall had owl’d, she had been collecting the memories over the course of the past week, never exceeding the cautioned six memories per day.   
  
She had been surprised at first that McGonagall would want more than happy memories. But after thinking it over, she realized that to truly fortify the castle and assist in resurrecting it to at least a semblance of its former glory, a mixture of good and bad memories were needed. When asked about her reasons during the meeting in her office, Professor McGonagall had tactfully explained that the castle would need to know how to counter bouts of accidental magic and failed attempts at casting charms and brewing potions. Neville had grinned at that, stealing a glance at her.   
  
Along with the additional memories that McGonagall had requested, Hermione decided to include some inconsequential ones: walks to Hagrid’s hut, working on assignments in the common room, admiring the Christmas decorations in the Great Hall, being a part of the crowd when Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup in Third. She’d hesitated at first, but then she plucked up the courage to also include the memory of her first kiss with Draco in the small alcove on the sixth floor. Professor McGonagall had assured them that none of the memories would be viewed by herself or any of the staff, so Draco need never know Hermione’d included it.  
  
Closing the lid of the container holding the vials, Hermione turned her attention to the assortment of books and magical objects scattered around her room. She double-checked that she had properly marked all the books that were to be on-loan to the school. She couldn’t wait to learn the technique the Department of Mysteries had developed to make photocopies. Of course, they didn’t call it “photocopying”, but the concept was the same. When some of the more affluent families had realized that the technique was in existence, they were much more willing to loan books from their private libraries and hoards; some had even magnanimously offered to have the copy returned to them, allowing the originals, with residual magics still trapped within their pages, to be kept at Hogwarts. Hermione had been a bit reluctant to part with the first edition The Tales of Beedle the Bard, but she knew she had no right to keep it. So, along with the other books that contained information about Horcruxes, The Tales would be packed into her charmed handbag. When asked if she wanted the books returned or destroyed—and after being informed as to why Hermione was in possession of those books—Professor McGonagall had hesitated but then decided that it was better to have the information available, dangerous as it was. The Headmistress had then requested that Hermione write a small treatise on Horcruxes, specifically as they pertained to Voldemort’s so-called quest for immortality. Hermione had yet to complete the paper; she wanted to do a bit more research into proofs that splitting one’s soul multiple times was not merely an ethical wrongdoing but had psychological and physiological consequences as well.  
  
Hermione packed the four stacks of books into the handbag. Then, she began adding the magical objects being donated to Hogwarts. As part of the magical fortification of the school, the Headmistress wanted objects that had either been created in class or had resided in the school and therefore retained a trace of some of the magic that may have been in the rooms they’d occupied. Hermione thought it extremely sly that Professor McGonagall had used the term “resided”; she was sure that Fred and George, for example, had nicked many things (besides food from the kitchens) over the years. It would be interesting to see what sorts of objects were being “donated” by students.  
  
Checking the time, Hermione saw that she still had two hours before her weekly dinner with her parents. That left her with over an hour of spare time. She grabbed a book off the shelf.  
  


***

  
  
“You put Potter up to this, didn’t you?”  
  
Hermione yelped, dropping the book she’d been reading. She took a deep, steadying breath before turning to look at the head hovering in her fireplace. “What are you talking about, Draco?”  
  
“Potter. Hogwarts. The Room of Hidden Things.”  
  
“Oh! Did he ask you to help locate it? He never told me; he just said he’d ask Neville to help.”  
  
“Longbottom’s going to be there, too?!”  
  
“Well, the three of you  _are_  the most adept at making it reveal itself.”  
  
“So, this is not a ploy to have me make good with your scarheaded best friend?”  
  
“No, although I wouldn’t mind if you could come to some sort of truce. You know that I’m not going to choose between you.”  
  
“I’ll be civil if he is.”  
  
“Fine. But you have to be civil to Neville regardless. Let’s call it part of the life debt you owe me.”   
  
“Evil. Just like my mother.” Draco’s head disappeared.  
  
Hermione retrieved her book and continued reading. She didn’t realize that she was humming to herself until Crookshanks complained that it was interrupting his nap.  
  


***

  
  
When Hermione and Draco walked into the front entrance of Hogwarts, they were astonished to see ten other students already gathered, all from their year. Doing a quick tally, Hermione realized that three students from each House had been invited. She understood the need to have each House represented but wondered whether students from other years would soon join them.   
  
It turned out that, through whatever means (hopefully democratic), it had been decided that the students from their year would represent their respective Houses and bear witness to the sanctification ritual.  
  
The week prior, Hermione had seen her memories released from their vials and interwoven into a growing quilt of shared memories. This quilt now hovered above them, its thickness making it an almost opaque gray. A sparkling thread of silver occasionally shimmered.  
  
As the first rays of dawn shone through the entrance and bathed the twelve wizards in pale shades of pink and orange, the staff joined them and spread themselves out to face the four cardinal points. Professor McGonagall asked the twelve to form a small, back-to-back circle to observe. The front doors were spelled shut. The staff then began a chant that caused the memory quilt to stretch and wrap itself along the four walls of the front hall. As the chanting became louder and more complex, the quilt stretched upwards and outwards, becoming an increasingly transparent mesh that radiated down corridors and ascended into the upper levels. Silvery tendrils snaked across the floor until they overlapped each other at the base of the main staircase; then, they climbed it as one unit.  
  
The teachers continued to chant, and faint echoes of the wisps gliding over stone reverberated from the high ceiling.   
  
The silvery mesh suddenly glowed a bright white and then disappeared, as if absorbed into the stonework. The staff ceased chanting but did not lower their wands. Then, beginning with the Headmistress, each teacher began reciting a different spell. Hermione recognized some of them as the protection spells she had cast around their tent when she, Harry, and Ron were hunting for Horcruxes. When these spells were completed, the teachers finally lowered their wands and turned to face the circle of witnesses. To the students’ surprise, the staff cast Cheering Charms that hovered above them before settling about every person in the hall. Then, McGonagall told the students to each focus on his or her happiest memory and cast a Patronus Charm. Hermione’s otter joined Harry’s stag, Ron’s terrier, and Luna’s hare as they ambled across the hall and melted into the walls. She recognized a boar, a greyhound, and a golden oriole before they also disappeared. A few wisps of silver-white mist also radiated from their circle.   
  
Beside her, Draco huffed when his first attempt failed. Hermione laced her hand into his free one and gave a small squeeze. Draco stared intently at her for a few moments, let out another huff, and repeated the incantation. To the astonishment of both, a continuous thread of mist was emitted from Draco’s wand, coalescing into the shape of a snow leopard, which strutted unhurriedly toward the far corner to their left. Hermione snorted as it finally melded with the wall. Draco playfully tugged a strand of curls.  
  
Professor McGonagall spoke up, explaining that she thought the Patronus Charm an appropriate one to test the castle’s new magical membrane. She then thanked the students for bearing witness and asked that they return to their homes. Owls would be sent to them regarding the refurbishing of the castle.  
  


***

  
  
“That’s not how the desks were lined up!”  
  
“Who cares? The old setup never made sense. McGonagall said we could make improvements.”  
  
“Fine. But this isn’t an improvement. The windows face west. Long shadows are going to be cast over the parchment during late afternoon classes. That’s not useful for note-taking.”  
  
“There will be candles, Granger. Besides, this is History of Magic. No one can stay awake long enough to even make notes.”  
  
“Says you!”  
  
“Actually, Hermione, Malfoy’s right: I don’t remember anyone who could stay awake in Binns’ classes,” admitted Justin Finch-Fletchley sheepishly.  
  
Hermione huffed.   
  
“‘ _Knowledge which is acquired under compulsion obtains no hold on the mind._ ’”  
  
“Listen to Loony, Granger. Now, stop arguing and finish putting away those textbooks. We still have other classrooms to set up.”  
  
“Oh, shut it.”  
  


***

  
  
Hermione was waiting for Draco, Justin, and Luna to arrive for another cold day of refurbishing various rooms around the castle when she was pulled aside by Harry.  
  
“Hermione, we can’t find the Room of Requirement.”  
  
“Oh no! Maybe it didn’t sense enough urgency—are you sure you’re in the right spot? The tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy was consumed by the Fiendfyre.”  
  
“We’re sure because the three of us pointed at the same wall.”  
  
“Maybe it moved to another location?”  
  
“That’s possible, but how would we find it, then? It doesn’t show up on the Marauder’s Map, you know.”  
  
“Well, did you check if the passage still exists between the Room and the Hog’s Head?”  
  
Harry nodded. “Neville thought of that. The passage is gone. Aberforth says he noticed it was gone after he returned from fighting the Death Eaters here, and this was before McGonagall warned about the Fiendfyre.”  
  
“Then it’s likely that the Room is gone. That’s too bad. Have you told Professor McGonagall?”  
  
“Not yet. Oh, the Chamber of Secrets tunnel in Myrtle’s bathroom is blocked. Guess it collapsed during the Fiendfyre rampage. And Fred and George said the passage to the Shrieking Shack is collapsed. Actually, all the secret passages have collapsed.”  
  
“Ask McGonagall which passages she wants fixed. I’m glad the Chamber of Secrets is blocked—we should keep it that way.”  
  
“And the one to the Shrieking Shack.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Hermione and Harry’s quiet remembrances of Remus were interrupted by Draco’s arrival.   
  
“C’mon, Granger, I’ve thought of a new way to test if the Room of Hidden Things still exists.”  
  
“And what’s that?” Hermione asked as she was pulled along the corridor. “Draco, we’re supposed to meet up with Justin and Luna.”  
  
“Oh, never mind them. They can join some other team. We’re both from different Houses and assisting in restoring the castle. That counts as ‘interhouse cooperation’.”  
  
“You still haven’t told me your new idea.”  
  
“We need a private and safe place to snog. Surely, the Room will accommodate.”  
  


***

  
  
When Hermione arrived at her small flat, she was astonished to see Draco petting Crookshanks on the sofa.   
  
“You’re home earlier than expected.”   
  
She shrugged out of her coat. “I could say the same for you. Actually, I didn’t expect you at all—assumed you would spend the night at Andromeda’s.”  
  
“And why would you assume such a nonsensical idea?”  
  
“I didn’t think your mum would let you out of her clutches, given that you haven’t been spending much time with her.”  
  
“I’m not Weasel King: I don’t have to report to my mum on a daily basis. Besides, she knows I’ve been spending most of my time at Hogwarts and trusts me to not get into trouble. Why are you home so early? Did they run out of Butterbeer?”  
  
“I thought you were the one who boasted about wild parties in the Slytherin Common Room.” Hermione settled onto the sofa and coaxed Crookshanks into her lap.  
  
“Slytherins may throw the best parties, but we certainly have a better sense of time. Many of us have jobs to return to in the morning, so after the dedication and a few rounds of celebratory drinks, we went our separate ways. We’re not prone to wallowing in nostalgia and gushing sentiment.”  
  
“Gryffindors don’t  _wallow_. We just like spending time with each other. And we were all just as mindful of time and the fact that most of us have day jobs. We just put a higher value on friendship and true camaraderie, so it takes longer to get caught up with news about each other than mere acquaintances.”  
  
“I’ll have you know that loyalty between Slytherins is far stronger than even the brashest Gryffindor can boast.”  
  
“I suppose that’s why Voldemort found so many supporters the second time around.” Hermione smirked as she shoo’d Crookshanks away and settled into Draco’s lap for a kiss.  
  
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “That’s hitting below the belt, Granger.”  
  
“You don’t wear one. You were quite insufferably smug about how tailored your clothes are, remember? Besides, whatever it is you have below your metaphorical belt seems delighted to see me.”  
  
“ _Ungh_. Witch.”  
  
“Why yes, have been all my life. Born that way. Glad we got that cleared up.” She kissed him again.  
  
“ _Mmphh_. So, this is how you act when you’re inebriated. Better watch that acidic tongue of yours. If you continue to bait me, I may have to ensure you get next to no sleep tonight. The Muggle Prime Minister’s office is still plenty miffed over damages to the Muggle part of town. You don’t want to show up for the meeting with less than all your wits.”  
  
“I can always pretend to be you and channel all that lovely snark. And you  _like_  my tongue. If I had a Sickle for every squeak—”  
  
“Malfoys don’t squeak.  _Unghhhhh_ …”  
  
“They do moan though…”  
  
“Minx.”  
  


***

  
  
As the fireworks commenced, Hermione wiped away tears. It was two years to the day of Voldemort’s defeat. And what better way to cleanse the last vestiges of bitter pain and loss than to celebrate the re-opening of Hogwarts? After almost two years of effort, the school would finally open its doors to students in September.   
  
Hermione felt a bubble of happiness when she felt Draco squeeze her hand and plant a kiss on her forehead. She would save teasing him about being just as sentimental as any Gryffindor for a later date. For now, she was content. The Wizengamot had ruled that Draco’s actions from sixth year onwards were results of coercion and threats to his life, and while he had caused harm to innocents, these were not deemed malicious. However, as harm had resulted, he could not escape reprimand, but in consideration of his efforts to amend through assisting in the rebuilding of Hogwarts, he was let off with a fine and a restriction from travelling out of country for two years.   
  
Fingers entwined, Hermione and Draco stepped through the front entrance and followed Professor McGonagall’s invitation to explore the castle. After visiting the Great Hall, the library, and the new secret passage that connected Hogwarts to the cellar of the Hog’s Head (to which Aberforth had finally agreed), Hermione found herself being led to the seventh floor. She gave a look of confusion when they stopped before a blank wall.   
  
“I thought the Room of Requirement was destroyed.”  
  
“Nope. Potter had a moment of brilliance two months ago—don’t look so smug; that’s not to be repeated to anyone—I’ll Obliviate the knowledge from your mind if you try. Potter asked the house-elves if they could restore the Room. They fixed it up in a flash, though it won’t work properly until there are students roaming the halls again and in dire need of something. Seems the Room’s magic is strengthened by emotions. The greater the variety and quantity, the more flexible it becomes.”  
  
“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t permanently disabled by the Fiendfyre. Draco, what are you doing?”  
  
“Seeing if I can conjure a private and safe place to snog you senseless, of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> “Knowledge which is acquired under compulsion obtains no hold on the mind.” ~ Plato
> 
> A huge debt of gratitude to withdrawnred, unseenlibrarian, and captainraychill for the invaluable brainstorming sessions!


End file.
